Page 11 of Upon Buried Embers
Would I ever get that chance to find out if it’s real?
I drink more, wanting to hold on to this moment, but much to my dismay, I choke and start coughing.
“Easy,” Rohan barks, slapping my back and I cry out, my body turning, jerking away from him. Rohan pauses. “Don’t waste our water by spewing it up.”
I catch my breath before gently lifting my knees up in front of me and take smaller sips, feeling everyone’s unkind eyes on me.
The fire crackles, and whatever’s in the pot begins to bubble as Fiona stirs it, a delicious scent filling the air.
My stomach rumbles, so much so that Rohan glances at me before he continues to talk to Rhett.
“And the other clans?”
Rhett shakes his head. “No sign of them.”
“Good. Drogonah!” he bellows suddenly, making me jump. “Go hunt.”
There’s an answering purr, and then the flapping of wings.
I don’t look back to see what his dragon is doing, resting my head on my knees, eyes locking on the pot. It’s then that I realize I’m going to have to sit here and watch everyone eat while my stomach eats itself.
How can life be so cruel? I don’t even remember the last time I ate.
“Are you prepared for the meeting after we arrive in the Wilds?” someone asks, and I glance at the tanned man, noting how his hair is short… shorter than anyone else’s I’ve seen so far.
“Yes,” Rohan answers. “Be vigilant, Garret, tell me if anything feels off.”
“We’ll be keeping a close eye on everyone,” a woman says, her dark hair in a single, long braid. She has scars on her face, and a fierce expression as she cleans a blade.
Kaldar eyes the woman, a softness in his eyes. “It’s clean enough, Adora, let’s eat.”
The small circle moves to the pot, producing wooden bowls from their rucksacks and dunking them in, gathering some stew before sitting down and drinking from it.
Darcia tries to hand Rohan her bowl, but he just stares at her until she relents and sits back.
He stays next to me, not moving.
It isn’t until everyone has taken their food that he moves, dipping his own bowl in the bottom of the pot, tilting it slightly in what I imagine is to gather what’s left.
He lifts the bowl to his mouth, still crouched by the pot and I watch him take a sip.
How can a man who’s stolen me wait until his people have eaten first? I shouldn’t even care enough to feel confused over it, but I am.
“Here.” A bowl is shoved in my face, and I stare at it, blinking at the steam coming off of it.
What a cruel trick.
If I take it, I know what comes next. A slap, a kick.
It smells so good though, and I was right, there was meat.
Brown and juicy, it floats at the top of the liquid.
I swallow, my mouth salivating.
How mean to put food in front of me this way.
“Here,” Rohan says again, and he shoves the bowl to my lips, tipping it slightly so the liquid burns me.
